


An Ongoing Project

by Slut_Boxx



Category: Clone High
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), And anxiety, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Relationships, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gay, High School, I demand more JFK/Van Gogh, Joan and Van Gogh are friends fight me, Lesbian Joan of Arc, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, References to Depression, Size Difference, Slow Build, Van Gogh has depression!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:28:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27221974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slut_Boxx/pseuds/Slut_Boxx
Summary: JFK is not very good at art-and he has no desire to be. He knows this and his teacher sure knows it too. But, for everyone in Clone High to pass, they need to have at least one art credit and JFK is lacking in that department; he’s flunking art.Trying to help, but unwilling to deal with the idiot, JFK is placed under the tutorship of none other than Vincent Van Gogh-much to Vincent’s dismay.
Relationships: JFK & Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High), JFK/Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	An Ongoing Project

Art class was always the best part of the day for Vincent, he was naturally talented in the field (obviously), and he enjoyed indulging his more creative side. He did fine in his other classes but they were just so restrictive and boring. And so he was about the only one who actually paid any mind to what the teacher said.

He glanced briefly around at his fellow classmates; most were dozing off with their cheeks pressed into their hands, others picking at the wooden desk they sat in, some on their phones as the teacher hunched over the blackboard with chalk in hand. Vincent’s eyes continued to roam about the room until they rested on a rather noticeable figure sitting at a desk toward the back. JFK. The school’s most popular student who was known by everyone, even if you hadn’t met him personally. He was well liked and practically worshipped by the football coach. Not to mention his proclivity to sleep with whichever woman would allow him to. Currently, he had two pencils crammed in his upper lip, sticking out like obnoxiously long and yellowed fangs. 

Football and womanizing may be his strong suits, but intellect was not among those. 

“Mr. Kennedy, would you mind telling the class what project we will be starting on this week?” The teacher, a clone of Salvador Dali, mused from over his shoulder. One pencil slipped from its hold as JFK straightened up slightly in his seat.

”I, uh, think its something to do with er uh art.” His response was met with a few snickers of the class and a deep sigh from Dali. He pinched his pointed mustache between two fingers and twisted as he spoke.

”Quite the educated guess there, Mr. Kennedy. However I was hoping you had paid enough attention to give a more accurate answer. This week, we are moving onto the topic of self portraits.” He turned from the board to face the class, revealing the words “self portraits” scrawled across the blackbaord in white. “Can you define a self portrait for me, Mr. Kennedy?” 

“It’s when you er uh, draw yourself right?” 

“Very good.” Dali turned back to face the board, seemingly satisfied with grilling JFK. He wrote the definition of a self portrait on the board and spun back on his heel, launching into a lengthy speil about the artistic merits of a self portrait and the joys of experimenting with the human form. Vincent rested his head against his palm, eyes falling to the sketchbook that lay open on his desk. He frowned at the empty white page that stared blankly back at him. His fingers brushed against his pencil, hovering over it as he thought of what to draw. Maybe a portrait perhaps, for practice. He rather liked portraits, he drew people a lot, but the idea of a self portrait was intimidating. Vincent didn’t like drawing or painting himself all too much. It made him feel awkward and he found himself nitpicking his appearance more often than not. 

Besides, why waste an expensive canvas on someone like him?

So he stuck to the portraits of others, his sketchbook was filled of people in the midst of various acts, all unaware they’re being studied. Was it a little weird that he drew his classmates without them noticing? Maybe a little. But no one really paid him any mind anyways, he didnt have many friends to bother him, and most people ignored him. So he was left to draw in peace. And he liked it that way. 

His eyes roamed the room looking for an intriguing figure to sketch out and his gaze fell upon JFK slumped over his desk looking bored and absentminded. He certainly was an interesting study and was fun to sketch. Vincent had sketched him multiple times-although he often felt weirdly guilty about that. It’s not his fault that JFK happens to be fun to draw and was often making some dopey facial expression that would challenge him to capture on paper. He set to work on his page, bringing himself to hunch over the paper as he quickly glanced and looked away from his subject. Time must’ve slipped from him as he meticulously slaved away over the paper becuase the sharp trill of the bell startled him from his near completed work. Vincent’s head shot up to see students filing out of class, chattering amongst themselves and brushing past Van Gogh as if he weren’t even there. He gathered his pencils hastily into his bag and quickly shut his sketchbook, moving to leave the class alongside his peers.

”JFK would you please stay after class for a moment.” 

That was not a surprise to say the least.

”Van Gogh, you too.

Vincent’s stomach dropped to the tile floor and he froze, a slight sweat breaking out across his forehead. He wasnt in trouble was he? There was no way he could be, he made perfect scores in this class, of course how could he not? Did he somehow do something wrong? All these questions raced about in his head as he dragged himself to Dali’s desk, settling into the chair before him, fingers drumming against the wood in a quick tempo. JFK sat at the chair beside Vincent and it was then he noticed just how big JFK was compared to his small stature. He felt very very small, especially as he sat nervously under the cold gaze of Dali.

”Mr. Kennedy, I am unsure if you noticed but you are failing this class.” Dali began in a stern tone, once agaisnt twiddling his mustache as he talked.

”I er uh, know sir.” JFK said with a rather dopey smile, as if he hadn’t been informed he was flunking a rather simple class.

”You do realize that each student is required to take at least one art credit in order to graduate, correct? And since you are 18 this is your last year to do so, I wouldn’t think you’d want to be held back for simply refusing to apply yourself in a simple art class.”

JFK’s smile dropped. ”Well, er uh, no sir. I didn’t think it was uh, a required course.”

”Yes. Well, it seems we have a problem on our hands then. I do not find any joy in failing you, but you refuse to apply yourself in my class. So, I will make you a deal.” Dali crossed his hands underneath his chin and eyed JFK with a scathing intensity. “If your work for this week’s project meets my standards of satisfaction then I shall double th credit you receive for it, that’ll bring your grade up to a C at least. But you’ll have to be tutored due to-frankly-your incompetence.”

His eyes slid over to Van Gogh.

”I’ll have Van Gogh here tutor you for this project. If even he cannot help you then, frankly, you’re beyond help. The man let out a slight chuckle then waved the two off, leaving no room for argument. Dali was not one for arguing anyways. Vincent felt his stomach tighten in a harsh knot as he stood up from his seat, grabbing his bag hurriedly. Tutor JFK? Most popular dude in school? No way this could end well. Vincent already was not a popular guy, he preferred being ignored by people in fact. Being ignored was far better than being taunted and jeered at-a reality he was too familiar with. Having to spend extra time around someone like JFK would absolutely end in him being taunted and made a full on joke to the whole school. You cant exactly go unnoticed as a laughingstock. What if he said something completely embarrassing without meaning to and it got around? What if? What if?

JFK let out a low whistle as he walked out of the class beside Van Gogh. “I guess I’m er, pretty lucky to have you as my tutor, huh?” He asked with a half grin. 

“Well, yes I suppose so...” Vincent mumbled, averting his eyes from the other. He was too busy panicking about how many ways this set up could go wrong to really make too much small talk. JFK threaded one of his comically large hands through his hair and fixed his gaze forward.

”I don’t have practice today,” he said aloud to mostly himself, “we er uh, could go over to my house after school. Talk about all this art and uh junk.”

Vincent nodded in agreement. JFK grinned a stupid grin at him and clapped him on the shoulder.

”Great, meet me in the, er uh, parking lot. My car isn’t hard to find. I’ll uh, see you after school uh, Vinnie.” And he drifted off into the crowd of people hurrying to class.

Vincent shrunk back into himself, trying to fight back the hot blush in his face.

JFK had absolutely no right to be that adorable. 

The rest of the day was rather uneventful, which was nothing new to Vincent, but it seemed to drag on and on. He felt acutely aware of how long a minute truly was. He bounced his leg rapidly while he sat at his desk, chewing on his knuckles, lost in deep thought. The mumbling of his professor seemed so far away, almost alien to him, and the words on the board read like nothing but meaningless scribbles. He could only think of what was to come at the end of the day.

Going to JFK’s house.

Fucking JFK.

Most popular dude in school.

Talking to him. Being in his general vicinity.

Vincent was far from a social butterfly-more aptly a very anxious moth actually. He kept to himself, buried in sketchbooks and easels, keeping to the corners and eying the floor. This approach usually worked, save for the times he found himself at the wrong end of someone else’s clenched fist or bumping shoulders with the wrong people. Why would JFK want to spend time with him? Well, not like this was his choice but still. What if he’s just waiting for an opportunity to embarrass him?

But he was really nice to Vincent in the hallway.

Vincent clenched his fist underneath his chin. Goddamn it he is absolutely not falling for fucking JFK. No. No way. For starters if he ever got enough guts to ever confess-or even hint-that he maybe sorta had a crush on JFK he would be laughed out of the entire school. Besides, no way JFK would want to date the gay, sad, art kid. Besides, JFK liked women too much.

The remaining minutes were spent similarly, panicking. He stuffed his papers into his bag without care, hurrying out of the door only to drag his feet as he made his way to the exit door. Every step filled him with a sense of dread-but he felt also giddy. This sucked. A lot. Vincent felt his ears burning and his throat felt unbearably tight as he pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the parking lot. The sun made Vincent squint and shy away, but at least it wasn’t too warm. He hated the heat. No, instead it was a nice autumn day with the right amount of chill to the air.

JFK was absolutely right, it did not take long to find his car. It was parked pretty close to the side entrance Vincent had just left, a few spaces away actually, sleek and bright red. It stuck out sorely compared to the other drably colored cars scattered about. JFK was leaning against the hood of his car, backpack slung over his shoulder, and talking to Cleo. The girl stood uncomfortably close to him with her hip cocked to the side and a hand delicately draped over the curve of her hipbone. Vincent stood and watched the interaction, not wanting to interrupt. Cleo seemed to be getting slightly frustrated, her eyes narrowing into dark slits and her lip curling upwards. JFK reached back to grab at the back of his neck, saying something that Vincent couldn’t hear. He looked nervous, or apologetic.

Cleo frowned and walked off. “Fine. I’ll just cry my sorrows out to my stupid roommate I guess, she’ll probably make me watch some dumb art movie about feelings then!” Cleo called over her shoulder, brushing past Vincent as if he wasn’t even there. JFK shrugged in response. His eyes fell on the small redhead straying at the corner of the parking lot. He waved him over with a friendly smile. Vincent gathered his courage and approached, hands twisting in his sleeves.

“U-uhm was I interrupting?” Vincent asked with hesitation, not wanting to be super nosy but also rather curious.

“No, dont uh worry about it. Abe just er broke up with Cleo. She’s upset about it and er uh, wanted to do something today to get her mind uh, off it.”

“And you turned her down...?”

“Well er yeah.” JFK gave him a confused look, tossing his bag into the backseat. “I already had plans.” Vincent coughed into his hand, trying to hide the minor blush on his face. No one had ever really made time for him. 

_Stop blushing you idiot, this means nothing._ Vincent thought to himself, ashamed at how much a small sign of respect affected him. JFK opened the door for him, nodding for him to get in. Which Vincent did, quickly snapping the seatbelt in place and staring straight out of the window. 

The car ride was awkward to say the least. Vincent was far too petrified to dare indulge any small talk, alternating between staring out at the road and sneaking glances over at JFK. He seemed relaxed, leaning back in his seat and a slight smile on his face, lowly humming along to the radio which was playing... _Video Killed the Radio Star_? Vincent raised an eyebrow. He didn’t expect JFK to like this kind of music, it didn’t fit his super masculine jock persona.

”You’re uh, not gonna make fun of my music tastes are you?” JFK asked with a lopsided grin, flicking his gaze over to the smaller boy sitting hunched in the passenger seat. Vincent shook his head, his shocks of red hair whipping back and forth as he did.

”Wh-why would I? It’s not a bad song.”

”Ah, I should’ve, er uh, known you would have good taste. Being so uh, artsy and all.” Vincent hummed in response to the compliment falling into silence.

“You’re uh, pretty quiet.” JFK mused, glancing over at Vincent.

”Oh, I’m sorry.

”No, its, er uh, not a problem. I just hope its uh, not because you’re intimidated. I don’t bite.” He shot the smaller boy a brief smile and Vincent almost melted.

”I-I know, it’s not...not that. I’m just quiet.” Vincent stammered, quickly turning to stare out the window to hide the flush in his cheeks. _This is going to be fun,_ Vincent thought, swallowing a lump in his throat as JFK’s car rolled up onto the driveway and came to a grinding halt.

”Well, eh, we’re here.” 

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a while since I’ve written anything. It feels good to return to writing my depraved shit (although this happens to be wholesome wow). I’ll try to stick to a schedule from now on but I make no promises. Cheers.
> 
> \- Your Dearest, Slut_Boxx


End file.
